


Cake to Bake

by OrangeVanilla



Series: Made of Stars [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baking, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Top Bucky Barnes, bucky barnes: baking god, recollections of almost tent sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeVanilla/pseuds/OrangeVanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he wakes up late one afternoon, Steve is greeted by the smell of cake and an empty bed. He huffs softly and rolls over, curling his arms around Bucky’s pillow and dozing quietly. Not long after, he’s woken again by metal fingers rubbing against his thighs.</p><p>“Need you to try this,” Bucky says softly, holding up a fork with some cake on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake to Bake

Of all the things Steve had suggested to Bucky to get him out of bed and occupied, baking was not the one he had anticipated to work. 

One of Steve’s late night discussions with Sam had led him to Googling the most positive hobbies for people struggling with motivation. Most of them had been impossible thanks to the fact that they’re the super soldier couple of the year, meaning things like dog walking and bird watching were off the cards (not that Bucky would like bird watching, but it was an idea), and their lack of a garden meant gardening was definitely not an option. 

They’d tried art. Steve loves art, so he’d figured maybe Bucky’s look on it might improve with a few hours of painting or drawing or just colouring. “I’m just not into it,” Bucky had huffed around the blue pencil in his mouth, very neatly colouring in the stripes of a tiger in purple in rebellion against Steve’s idea. “Art was always your thing.”

“What was your thing, then?” Steve had asked as nonchalantly as possible, something he’d picked up from how Sam talks to Bucky when he’s trying to get him to calm down. He’d focused on painting the details of a koala, glancing over when he’d noticed Bucky shifting uncomfortably. “Buck?”

“You were my thing,” Bucky had huffed, chewing his lip and setting both pencils down when Steve budged closer and wrapped an arm around him. “I always took care of you, Stevie. My thing was helping you. And last time I checked, Captain America isn’t at risk of polio.”

So Steve looked into hobbies that were more helpful and hands on. If he could find something Bucky liked that would still be beneficial to Steve, he figured he might have more luck. Cleaning proved to be the worst idea, because the vacuum was actually terrifying, and dusting was boring as shit. Shopping was also a bad idea, found out after Bucky came home with nothing but bread, coffee and sugary foods, including sherbet, marshmallow fluff and three bags of sugar. 

He’d suggested baking as an afterthought, more than anything. If Bucky wasn’t great with shopping, Steve wasn’t sure he’d commit to baking actual pastries, but it was worth a shot. He’d printed a few recipes out and stuck them on the fridge using the little magnet of a cat sleeping in a box, a gift from T’Challa. 

When he wakes up late one afternoon, Steve is greeted by the smell of cake and an empty bed. He huffs softly and rolls over, curling his arms around Bucky’s pillow and dozing quietly. Not long after, he’s woken again by metal fingers rubbing against his thighs.

“Need you to try this,” Bucky says softly, holding up a fork with some cake on it. Steve opens his mouth obediently, groaning softly when Bucky feeds him the cake and waits for feedback. 

Steve hums softly, shutting his eyes and savouring the taste of the cake in his mouth, which is gone all too quickly. “I think I need a little more. For research,” Steve says into the pillow, grinning when the hand at his thigh smacks him lightly.

“Is it good?” Bucky asks, moving to sit cross legged beside Steve and setting a plate of red velvet cake near his head. He rubs at Steve’s back with his flesh hand smiling softly when Steve reaches for the fork and starts eating like he’s been starved. “Steve.”

“This is so good,” Steve groans through a mouthful of cake and cream cheese. “This is perfect. I wanna fuck this cake.”

Bucky gives him a look. “Don’t fuck my cake. I made this with my own hands, you keep your penis away from it, make your own fucking cake to fuck.”

Steve almost chokes on his mouthful of cake as Bucky speaks, swallowing hastily so he can laugh hard and unrelenting. “I promise not to fuck your cake,” he grins when he’s done cackling into the pillow, which makes Bucky look pleased. “It’s really good, though. You made this?”

“No, I lied. I’m really that desperate to impress you,” Bucky snarks, collecting a little cream cheese on one of his metal fingers and licking it off. “Yes, I made it. You want me to get a hobby so bad, and baking’s a good one. I ordered an apron, too.” 

Steve offers a forkful of cake to Bucky, who eats it gratefully. “We’re never telling anyone about this. I want your baking to be a special thing,” Steve says, polishing the rest of the slice off and rolling onto his back. “It’ll be our secret. Keep everyone scared o’you.”

“More like you wanna keep all my cake for yourself,” Bucky grins, rubbing Steve’s belly idly. “Who would we tell, realistically? Sam and T’Challa.”

“And Scott. Clint. Wanda. Maybe we could have sweetened the government up with some muffins,” Steve suggests, tracing the tattoo on Bucky’s calf he got three weeks ago of his shield. For two technically illegal super soldiers, Bucky’s been getting more and more confident with testing the boundaries of the law. “But we can’t. It’s a secret.”

Bucky closes his eyes, moving to rest his head against Steve’s chest. “I wouldn’t share with any of ‘em,” he hums, holding a hand out and waiting expectantly for it to be held. Steve does as is expected. “They can call me when they get polio.”

For weeks, Bucky bakes like it’s his true calling in life. They stay true to their idea of secrecy, and it makes it even more fun for Steve to eat Bucky’s white chocolate and raspberry cookies around Sam. He’s just glad that he burns calories off almost as soon as he ingests them, because at this point he can just inhale Bucky’s profiteroles. 

The kitchen slowly becomes an area of their apartment that Steve is not welcome in. It happens subtly at first, Bucky insisting on making breakfast and promising to handle all the dishes himself, and Steve loves Bucky’s cooking enough to not complain. Steve doesn’t mind it when Bucky offers to cook dinner most nights, because it’s nice of him and he’s always been great at cooking.

It only becomes an issue when Steve’s supply of baked goods starts running short.

There’s no way Bucky can lie his way out of it. He spends most of his time baking, masturbating or watching documentaries about animals killing each other in the wild. So unless he’s eating everything, jerking off into every batch of muffins or getting distracted by the mere thought of lions eating gazelles, Bucky’s up to something. 

When Steve enters the kitchen after two long weeks of restricted goods, he finds Bucky reading a Stephen King book, a fresh batch of cookies in the oven. “Buck,” he says softly, planting his hands firmly on the counter. Bucky doesn’t look up from his book. “Why am I not being fed?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, eyes still on the book. “I feed you more than you need to be fed, Stevie,” he replies, dipping a metal finger in a bowl full of batter and licking it. “Can you expand on your point?”

“I’m getting less baked stuff,” Steve feels like a whiney toddler once the words leave his mouth, and by the look Bucky gives him, he sounds like one too. Bucky sets his worn down copy of ‘The Shining’ down on the counter, hopping off the stool and padding around to stand behind Steve. “Bucky-”

“Stay put,” Bucky commands, putting his hands at Steve’s waist and squeezing lightly. Steve’s more than confused, but he waits patiently as Bucky very carefully pinches and squeezes at his body. He kind of wishes he’d gotten dressed before confronting Bucky, because he’s effectively being felt up in nothing but his briefs and a worn down t-shirt. “You’re not malnourished. Healthy weight. Good ratio. You don’t need more cake.”

“...what?”

Bucky turns Steve around and presses him against the counter, hands either side of him, keeping him in place. “The amount of desserts you’re getting now is fine. Do you need me to put you on a time out step to chill out, or can you handle that?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “When did you get so mean?” he frowns, huffing when Bucky laughs. “All I want is your baking. You can’t trap Captain America between yourself and a counter for just _wanting_ something.”

Bucky scoffs, pushing away and grabbing his oven mitts. It’s only now that Steve notices he’s wearing an even newer apron, pressed nicely and a deep red. “You’re really playing the ‘Captain America’ card?”

“Hey, you play the ‘brainwashed cyborg assassin for seventy years’ card all the time!” Steve argues, watching as Bucky takes two baking sheets of cookies out of the oven. 

“Yeah, like you’ve never used the ‘frozen for seventy years’ card. And no one but you takes my cards, because no one gets it. Everybody loves the Cap card,” Bucky scowls, setting the sheets down near the sink and turning the oven down. “I take what I can get.”

“Can I help?” Steve asks, catching them both off guard. There stare at each other for a moment, both of them looking confused. “I mean... with your baking. Am I allowed to help you?”

“Sure, if you do what I say,” Bucky smiles, chuckling softly when Steve noticeably hesitates. “And don’t complain about my music.”

Steve crinkles his nose, picking up the bowl of batter and a whisk. “I can’t help not liking Kendrick Lamar, Buck, it’s not my fault.”

“Put the whisk down, Steve, I am a professional,” Bucky commands, offers him a spoon instead. Steve takes it, and stands awkwardly. “Pour the batter into cake tins, handsome. Try to level them equally if you can.”

Steve does as he’s told, looking intensely proud when Bucky gives him an oven mitted pat of approval. “See? I bet Kendrick Lamar can’t pour cake into tins like me. And I bet he can’t fight aliens like I can.”

Bucky hums, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple and putting the cake tins in the oven. “You’ve got a point there, handsome man.”

*

Steve finally finds out that Bucky’s been delivering his desserts to places when he’s too sick to leave bed. “Stevie,” he whines, bravely making his way through a piece of buttered bread like it’s made of poison. Bucky gets a stomach like a kitten when he’s sick, and Steve’s just glad it’s a rare occurrence. It’ll be a 24 hour thing at most, but he’s totally out of action for a day.

“Buck, I’m here,” Steve assures him, pressing a damp cloth to Bucky’s forehead and shushing him when he coughs weakly. He can tell Bucky must feel fucking awful, because he’s seen his boy deal with bullet wounds without more than a grunt. “I’m here, love. I’m taking care of you.”

“I’ll start writing my will then,” Buck laughs softly, closing his bloodshot eyes and letting Steve fuss him. It’s better than trying to eat. His throat is dry and closed up and awful. “Baby, my bakes.”

“You can take a day off, Buck, relax,” Steve soothes, rubbing Bucky’s chest and tutting when he tries to speak again. Steve’s surprised at how well he falls into the role of nurse. He guesses he learned it from so many nights spent in bed being looked after by Bucky.

“I deliver.”

Steve stares at him. “You what?”

“I deliver my bakes, Stevie, I take orders from people. Gotta earn money, huh?” Bucky coughs, leaning his head against Steve’s broad shoulder. “I don’t have much today, but you need to do it.” 

“Buck-”

“It’s on my tablet, you know my pass code,” Bucky says, yawning and settling comfortably. Steve’s glad the extra strong sleeping tablets are working, but not after the news that his boyfriend is some kind of baking saviour. 

“Bucky are you actually serious?” he asks, picking Bucky’s tablet up from the nightstand and unlocking it.

“Yes.”

He passes out shortly after that, not before he can tell Steve to put the orders in the boxes he has hidden in the cabinet next to the plates. One hundred cookies, one hundred cupcakes, one hundred muffins. Present them as ‘from Benjamin’ (“Excuse me, Steve, but I’m still the Winter fucking Soldier in most people’s eyes, don’t you dare laugh”), and make sure to take any more orders.

The directions on Bucky’s phone lead him to three separate places. An orphanage, a rundown children’s care home, and a home for the elderly. All of them seem more than pleased to see him, and all of them ask to renew their orders with ‘the same as usual’. It turns out Bucky’s been baking for places like these for almost as long as he’s been baking at all. 

Steve isn’t sure he could love Bucky any more, but here he is sat down in a park and watching two ducks swimming together in the pond, thinking about getting married. He knows Bucky’s not big on marriage, and he understands why. But he’d love to. Plus they’re both pushing one hundred. No time like the present, right?

He returns to the apartment with take out, knowing full well neither of them wants to waste time cooking when they could cuddle. “Hey, handsome,” Bucky grins when Steve hands him a plate of chicken chow mein and fried rice. They settle close together, Bucky takes three times as long thanks to his throat feeling like a grater.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re the nicest guy in the world,” Steve says once he’s polished off the last of the prawn crackers. Bucky rolls his eyes, still obviously drowsy from medication. “You are. You bake for people who need smiles, Bucky.”

“Yeah, well. Gotta make up for a lot of bad karma, haven’t I?” Bucky smiles softly, putting his fork down and shifting to lay against Steve’s chest, massaging his belly gently with his metal arm. “I figured that if you love me buckets-”

“I do.”

“I know. So it’s about time I make a point of looking like I deserve it. ‘Captain America’s evil boyfriend’ turned ‘Captain America’s sexy ex sergeant baker boyfriend’. Got a ring to it, right?” he grins, closing his eyes and humming contentedly when Steve strokes his hands through his hair. 

“What about you being my husband?” Steve says softly, eyebrows furrowing when Bucky laughs. “What? What’s funny about that?”

“I’ll never be tied down, big man,” Bucky tells him, rolling onto his stomach and turning his head to look at Steve. There’s a smile on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Marriage isn’t for me, Stevie.”

“I’m gonna get you to marry me eventually,” Steve states, groaning softly when Bucky trails his hand over his crotch, clearly aiming to change the subject. He may be a super soldier, but Steve is still very human. “You and that fuckin’ robot arm.”

“You love my sexy evil arm,” Bucky smirks, petting at the insides of Steve’s thighs like he did before the war. “Sometimes I think I only broke out of HYDRA’s mind shit because of these thighs. And your tits.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head and grinning when Bucky pats his pecs with his flesh hand. “They’re still not tits, Buck. They weren’t tits in the war, and they aren’t now.”

“Remember that night when it stormed?” Bucky recalls, his voice husky and fond. “Spent all night kissing you in that tent, grabbing at those pretty tits. You loved it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve whispers, leaning back against the pillows. He doesn’t care if he’s got a belly full of pork lo mein, Bucky always gets him hot. “You got in my sleeping bag, got on top o’me and- oh god, Buck-”

“Shh, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, opening Steve’s belt and unzipping his jeans, working them down easily. He moves fluidly, shifting to lie flush on top of Steve, his hands slipping under his shirt and stopping when they reach pert nipples. “Just like old times, huh?”

“God, I wanted you to fuck me that night,” Steve breathes, letting Bucky kiss hungrily all over his throat and jaw. His hands squeeze gently at Steve’s pecs, and Steve lets himself think that maybe it’s just after the war, and they’re in a nice apartment and the war is over and they’re living in secret. “I always wanted you to, Buck, but that night I felt like I needed it...”

“I woulda done it, baby,” Bucky promises, pressing his face against Steve’s collarbone and swallowing hard. “Woulda opened you up nice and slow, yeah. Woulda made you moan for me in that cramped little tent.”

“Jeez, Bucky,” Steve groans when Bucky stops his kissing momentarily to push his t-shirt up, tugging it off when he raises his arms. “I’m so sorry I didn’t ask for it.”

“It’s alright, Stevie, it’s okay,” Bucky assures him, mouthing wet and hot over Steve’s left nipple and chuckling when Steve whines like he’s getting screwed. “My boy, aren’t you? Beautiful boy, always so sensitive. Get your briefs down, baby, touch yourself for me.”

Steve does as he’s told, hastily pushing his briefs down around his thighs. He does the same with Bucky’s as an afterthought. He licks over the palm of his right hand, wrapping it around both of their lengths together and hissing through his teeth when Bucky flicks his tongue over his nipple. “Bucky,” he whispers, gripping the sheets with his free hand when Bucky pushes his hips into Steve’s hand.

“My boy, aren’t you?” Bucky whispers, panting softly when Steve’s hand starts pumping, slow and delicious. Bucky’s cock is thicker than Steve’s, something that gets them both hard as hell. He wets a finger and rubs it over Steve’s right nipple, rolling and pulling lightly. “You always have been. Gotta thank those scientists for these tits, haven’t I?”

Steve laughs breathlessly, arching his hips into his hand and gasping when Bucky moves up and kisses him hard, licking into his mouth. His free hand moves to Bucky’s hair, fingers tangling in well washed strands and pulling lightly. “God, Buck, please,” he moans when Bucky pulls away. He speeds his hand up a little, squeezing experimentally. The two of them moan in unison, a smirk drawing at Bucky’s lips.

“You gonna spill, huh?” he groans, rolling his hips into Steve’s hand and licking over Steve’s pecs, sucking a light hickey against smooth skin. “Want me to come at the same time, Stevie? Want me to rub my fuckin’ seed into these fuckin’ titties?”

“Fuck, Bucky, you’re filth,” Steve pants, moaning loud when Bucky sinks his teeth into the flesh of his right pec, sucking hard and possessively. His breath hitches when the cool metal of Bucky’s left hand graces the meat of his ass, squeezing hard and kneading pillowy flesh. 

“Love how soft you are, baby,” Bucky croons, looking at Steve like he’s a constellation made of diamonds and gold. “Love how these fat tits are just like your big fat heart, and I love your ass, and I love how I know your body.”

“Bucky, Bucky...” Steve whispers, watching Bucky spit into his right hand, wet and filthy.

“Take your hand away, Stevie, let me take care o’you,” he tells Steve, replacing Steve’s hand with his own and stroking long and slow and tight. Steve goes slack against the mattress, moaning when Bucky strokes a metal finger over his hole. “Tell me when you’re close, alright?”

“Close _now_ , Buck,” Steve huffs, which makes Bucky laugh softly. His hand speeds up around their lengths, gliding easily and smooth. Bucky’s always had a way of being silkily fluid with everything, and his handjob skills are included in that bracket.

Bucky pushes that one metal finger against Steve’s hole, cool and smooth. “I know you, don’t I?” he purrs against Steve’s chest, nudging his hips forward and groaning softly. He pushes his finger past Steve’s rim slowly, curling it and grinning when Steve comes with a shout, hot white streaks coating his chest. Bucky follows suit, moaning and slowing his hand to a gradual stop as he pants. 

“Gorgeous,” Bucky whispers softly, pulling both hands away and sitting back on Steve’s thick thighs. “Like a work of art, huh? My Stevie.”

“Sap,” Steve laughs, dropping his hand from Bucky’s hair and going slack against the mattress. Bucky slides off the mattress, heading into the en suite and returning with a damp cloth. He wipes Steve down with gentle hands, smiling when Steve yawns. 

“You’re tired after a handjob. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up and get into bed,” Steve rolls his eyes, moving to pull his briefs off when he notices Bucky’s have disappeared. Bucky returns the cloth to the bathroom, padding around the apartment to turn all the lights off before joining Steve in bed.

They lay in silence for a while, Steve spooning Bucky comfortably and the both of them breathing slowly. It’s comfortable, almost like they’re back in their old apartment before the war. Bucky shifts around awkwardly, just like he used to do on cold winter nights, and Steve moves to lie on his stomach, half leaning over Bucky. 

“We need to move.”

Steve huffs sleepily, pressing his face against Bucky’s chest and keeping his eyes shut. “Why?”

“I want a garden,” Bucky says, scratching Steve’s back gently with his flesh hand and receiving a moan of satisfaction for his efforts. “I wanna start gardening.”

Steve opens his eyes at this revelation, looking up at Bucky and raising an eyebrow. “Buck, since when have you been interested in gardening?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow right back at him. “Steve, I ask for very little in this relationship. I ask for an hour in the bathroom every Wednesday, a handjob once a month, and for you to keep me warm at night.”

“Bucky, get a window planter,” Steve huffs, yawning big and rubbing his eyes. “I was almost asleep.”

“I want a garden,” Bucky insists, stroking his hands through Steve’s hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Which means we need to move into an actual house, and not an apartment.”

“I’m not moving into a house unless we get married.”

“Fine then, you’re enough of a nagging wife as it is.”

“Marry me?”

“If it gets me a garden.”

**Author's Note:**

> finally, i finish a stucky fic.  
> man, this was inspired by a weird conversation i had on a group chat a few nights ago, and now here we are
> 
> as usual, feel free to send me some sin at my tumblr, [buckys--plums]()! i'm currently planning on going through the prompts i have on there from my angelic evanstanon, and oh boy i have some jams coming up.


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